Every Single Day
by HopelesslyChanny
Summary: Had she wanted to talk to him? To hear his voice? While it all seems probable, none of it feels right. She called to hear him say something that she'd once begged him never to say again.


**A/N: Hey everyone! (: I know I haven't uploaded in a while, but this should make up for it, hehe. I hope you all enjoy it and I'm sorry if there's any mistakes such as weather or traveling times, but I didn't feel like checking this stuff since I've already spent about two and a half hours on this, and somehow it just wrote itself. Thank God for that, I really can't handle any more editing for today :P**

**Please review if you can, I really want to know how well I did with this...it's different from my other stories, though the start may seem similar. Give it a chance my darlings!**

* * *

The thunder jolts her awake. She claws frantically at her blanket, trying to pull it up higher than it can physically go. Trying to escape the nightmares.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice tells her that they'll never go away. She's tied to her past and there's no way to let go without losing herself...what's left of herself. The only way to somehow stabilize her life, to control the pain, is to hide behind the perfect little veil. A veil of lies. Of deception. She's lying not only to the world, but to herself.

For some reason, she finds the latter unforgivable.

Slowing her breathing, she lowers her legs onto the soft, plush carpet and shuffles her feet towards the window. The curtains are swaying slightly, their color changing with the abrupt flashes of lightning. It's the worst night yet – she feels alone. Even more alone then she felt when they first separated. The weather is a little surreal; thunderstorms like this haven't come in months.

She wonders, would she prefer the pleasant, sunny skies of Hollywood to this?

No. Because no matter how brilliant the days looked, the town was forever under a dark cloud...at least for her, that's the way it seemed. She was happy she had left the city behind, because she had also left him.

Now, as she stands in front of the thin glass door to her balcony, she waves off her doubts and steps outside. The cool air immediately begins to whip at her, lashing the parts of her body not covered by her nightgown. She forces a smile, as if for the cameras, and moves towards the railing. Her hands curl over the frigid metal.

If her family was here, they would assume the worst. That she was going to jump. Why? To rid herself of the misery, of her life which she'd begun to realize had no meaning.

She laughs dryly, thinking of how little they trusted her now. Jumping off her second storey balcony wouldn't kill her. It would most likely injure her to the point of surgically altered limbs and possibly a wheelchair. But no, it would not kill her.

So why is she standing out here?

Her breath hitches as she asks herself the question, the answer already forming in her mind: because she feels like she's in control.

She could end her life in a second – an incredibly painful second, and although it wouldn't kill her straight away, nobody would have heard. Nobody would come to her rescue and she'd be left to die alone, on the wet, darkened pavement – or she could walk back inside and act as if it hadn't happened. She could pack her bags and run away before the sun even started to rise.

Of course she doesn't want to leave – this is her home, the place she grew up. But it doesn't matter. She likes to know that her life was in her own hands, and nobody else's. Her parents can't tell her to come back inside. Her parents aren't here. She is all alone, facing what she has been hiding from herself throughout this past year.

As if to prove the point, she lifts herself onto the railing and spins around. Her feet dangle over the edge.

She lets out a laugh that could be misconstrued as desperate, although she is far from it. No matter what it looks like from the outside, she is far from the brink of madness. She is moving further and further away from her feelings, her emotions and her stupid, pointless memories. They mean nothing anymore. Not to him, not to her and definitely not to all the sympathetic crowds she once knew.

Breathing out a puff of cold air, she allows herself one final look at the street below and then turns, stands upright and walks calmly towards the door.

* * *

She finally gets out of bed by the third knock, hearing the cries of her mother as she worries about every single bad thing that could've happened to her precious daughter while they were away.

Criminals, drug circles and kidnapping are the main points of distress.

Seeing Sonny's face shuts them up. They walk in quietly, wiping their feet on the brand new welcome mat and hanging up their coats.

She leads them to the kitchen, boiling the water while rummaging through the pantry at the same time. Her eyes are seemingly emotionless, as she tends to keep them around her loved ones, but there's something about her that's different.

"Honey..." Her mother begins, unsure of what to start the conversation with. It isn't that Sonny doesn't contribute – her love for a heated discussion about just about anything has not faded the slightest bit – but she seems so detached that all of the words Connie had been carefully preparing in the car slip off into the air.

"I know, I know, Mom." She pours tea for all three of them. "I'm not myself. And I know that. But you'd think that you could forgive me, today being a special day, of sorts." She seems to chuckle softly to herself.

However, just as the words leave her mouth, her parents are checking the date. Her father grabs his phone out of his pocket. Her mother runs to the door where the calendar hangs. They stand in silence as they realize how badly they've timed everything.

"Oh...honey...I'm so sorry..."

"We really didn't know..."

"Are you alright? Do you need to go see Dr Chanceling?"

She declines all of their offers, their pats on the shoulders and awkward hugs. The hugs aren't a regular thing for them anymore, but she tries her best not to hurt them by whispering a few words of thanks before retreating to her room.

Locking her door, she runs straight to the phone.

While his number is still on her speed dial, she takes the extra time to press the buttons in the order her mind has refused to forget.

The waiting is not the excruciating kind, but more of a gentle hum in her head. It isn't long before he picks up, and now she's sure – he hasn't changed his number. Could it be for her? So she could reach him? It's so unlikely that she dismisses the thought almost immediately, but not before a smile creeps its way onto her face.

"Hello?"

His voice hasn't changed at all. It's funny really, they haven't spoken in a year and yet there's so much she feels like she can tell him. She bites her lip and answers.

"It's me."

"...Sonny?"

That's all it takes. Suddenly, it's all rushing back to her, every single thing she remembers about him, everything she supposedly forgot. Her heart is beating twice as fast. He fingers are shaking. It feels like the first time she's ever talked to him.

"Hi." She manages to choke out.

There's a long pause before he speaks again.

"I didn't think you'd ever call me again."

It was stupid to think that he'd simply ignore the past year, but for some reason she thought the conversation wouldn't come to it.

Taking a deep breath, she whispers, "I didn't think I would either."

"Is...is something wrong?" While they're both lost for words, neither seems to be lacking confusion. Him, at such a strange, unexpected call, and her because she no longer remembers why she's calling. Had she wanted to talk to him? To hear his voice? While it all seems probable, none of it feels right. She called to hear him say something that she'd once begged him never to say again.

"No, nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least." She waits for his reply, but after a few seconds, her face begins to turn red and suddenly she can't control her anger anymore. "Don't you get it? Don't you understand why I'm calling?"

"Look, no matter what supposed telepathy me and you have, it's just not catching on, so why don't you just tell me?" His voice is harsher than usual. It hurts her to even remember the last time he used that tone.

Tears are beginning to form in her eyes, threatening to spill out at any moment. She blinks them away furiously. Why can't he just understand? She can't bring herself to say it out loud, nor in her head. But she knows exactly what she wants him to say. She knows what words will bring her back to him without even a glance back at this mess they've made.

"Chad..." she whimpers. "Chad..."

He knows it, too. He knows when she says his name that nothing has changed. Nothing could ever change between them. Not even if they'd been separated for fifty years.

Realizing this, he wishes he hadn't been so unfeeling a moment ago. He wishes to be next to her, holding her in his arms and whispering into her hair.

"I thought about you every single day." He blurts out, unthinking. Why did he have to say it? Despite being so sure that she still cares for him, he wonders why she couldn't say it. Maybe she doesn't care anymore. Maybe it's all a trick his mind is playing on him, and he's giving in out of desperation.

But he doesn't care. Somehow her call had rearranged all his perfectly laid out thoughts and opinions, causing all hell to break loose inside of him. He allows his lips to move without considering the consequences.

"Every single day. Did you hear me, Sonny? Every single day I thought about you! I didn't let myself forget. I didn't give you up. You're the realest thing in my life..._were _the realest thing in my life. No, Sonny. You still are. I don't care that you left me. I don't care that you couldn't forgive me. Because yes, I do still care about you. I still love you."

* * *

The minute she hears the words, she's running out the door. She leaves the phone dangling off the table, rushing out as if she's on fire. And, in a way, she is.

Somehow she finds herself on a plane. She doesn't even remember how she'd gotten a ticket, let alone gotten on the very first available flight to Los Angeles. The hours speed by and in her mind, she's just minutes away.

She pushes through the crowd of people exiting the plane, managing to get to the front without causing too much of a hassle. She doesn't even notice the dirty looks they give her – her eyes are fixated on the door, her muscles strained in preparation for the shoving that's about to begin.

Finally, she's out of the plane and running through the airport, through the scanners and through hundreds of people that aren't him.

"Chad! Chad!" She cries out helplessly, willing him to appear beside her. "Why aren't you here?" Her voice is dropping in volume as the people seem to close in around her, causing a sense of claustrophobia to set in. "Chad!" She shrieks.

"Sonny!"

Suddenly, she finds herself face to face with him.

She doesn't know how, but she's whisked into his arms, being spun around and around. He's holding her, pushing away security guards and absolutely any person who comes near them. Their eyes are locked on each other.

Her mouth opens to say something but is met by his lips pressing against her own, his hands pushing her closer to his body. Her fingers tangle in his hair and she realizes that despite what anyone would tell her, she's not crazy.

And even if she is, they're both crazy. Together.


End file.
